


Adina

by Miriam_Heddy



Category: Sorority Boys (2002)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-22
Updated: 2015-08-22
Packaged: 2018-04-16 15:55:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4631232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miriam_Heddy/pseuds/Miriam_Heddy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A surprisingly serious story about gender-bending frat boys.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Adina

      **A** dam rolls over onto his side, drawing his legs up and curling them under himself on the sofa so he can talk to David without getting a crick in his neck. He blinks, and the image of David stabilizes a little, although everything around them remains a little swimmy--a little fuzzy. But it's okay. That's okay. That, he reminds himself, is the purpose of getting both stoned and drunk at the same time. Another drink. Another drag. Another season, another reason, for makin' whoopee.

He laughs, and then abruptly gets that it's absolutely not funny. Which only makes him laugh again.

And David's staring at him, which makes him realize that David's waiting for him to say something. He shakes his head, licking the dry air from his lips, and tries to remember how he'd rehearsed this, sometime--a lifetime ago--back when he was pretty damned sure he was never, ever going to actually ask.

"I need you to do something," he says, and stops, realizing that he's already said that once already.

"What?"

"Just--whether or not you say yes, you have to--"

"What?"

"Promise. Do it or don't, but don't--don't ask me why."

"Why what?" David asks, staring at him with those big, big, god--is he wearing eyeliner?--eyes that are a little glassy, which means he's pretty stoned himself. Which is really no excuse for not paying attention--for making this harder than it fucking is, and it's so fucking, fucking...

"A favor," he clarifies, trying to draw the word out so that it can get past the dumb numbness of his mouth.

"Oh. O-kay. A favor?"

He nods, mouths the word again, "favor," but nothing comes out. And David is still staring at him with those eyes... and he forgets what--

"Are you broke again?"

"I--No!" he says, although actually, he sort of is. He feels... empty. Spent... but that isn't--wasn't--the point. The point was... was... "Look... I--Just--I--"

"I think--" David leans over, and Adam flinches as David's arm brushes across his chest as he reaches for the bottle on the side table. Adam's own hand shoots out and he grabs hold of David's wrist before he can move back to his side of the sofa. "I need another drink," David continues, glancing down at Adam's hand on his wrist, then back at the bottle he's holding and can't open, one-handed.

"kiss me."

"Y-wha?"

"Shit. Look--forget I--"

"*Kiss* you?"

"No. I--Don't--fuck--just--don't. Forget I said anything." And Adam has to look away, at the floor, at the haze of smoke in the air and the stupid calendar on the wall that keeps flipping down to last month's Playmate.

If he wasn't so damned stoned, he'd get up and leave. Except he *is* stoned, and David hasn't left--hasn't freaked like he figured he might, if he were anyone but David. And after what seems like hours of counting the ceiling tiles, David clears his throat, softly, and Adam looks down so fast the room spins again noisily, and he sees that the warmth across his middle is David's arm, and the heavy weight at his side is just the vodka bottle leaning there. He looks at his own hand--a strange, strange hand--so oddly shaped--so *big*--and lets go--tries to let go--he really should let *go*--of David's wrist. 

He's still trying to send that particular signal through, and realizes that the brownies are starting to kick in, big time, when David says, "Why do you want me to kiss you?" He's so close, now that Adam can see it isn't eyeliner--just David--is he getting closer?

"Don't--" he starts to protest, but David doesn't stop--didn't--Jimmy didn't--stop--

"Okay, okay, it's okay," David whispers, and Adam can taste the vodka in the air between them, and then David's lips--ohgod, his mouth--his--stop. And David is pulling back, away from him.

"Adam?"

"Yeah," he answers, because he is Adam, isn't he? Isn't he still? licking his lips and trying to decide--to figure out--did it--it was too quick. He wasn't--he isn't *sure* he can *do* this. Dammit.

"Why--"

"I think I asked you not to ask me that," he says, a little proud of himself that he manages to say it in one try, to actually look at David while he says it.

And David, too, seems impressed, or maybe he's just in shock. Except nothing ever shocks David, does it? David's just David, even when he's Daisy. Even when he's hazy. Hazy Daisy. He laughs at that, can't help it, can't help the way his voice gets high when he laughs when he's high, and oh shit, he just asked David to kiss him.

"I'm-might be gay," he says to his hand--that oddly big, oddly pretty hand--because he can't look at David when he says *that*. Even though he's pretty sure David won't be shocked by that, either. Oh no. Nothing shocks David. He decides he hates David, and laughs a little at that, staring across the room at Miss November's big, rosy, hazy tits hanging there like two pale... tits. Clever analogies are apparently beyond him at the moment.

"Look--" David says.

"Yeah. I think--I'm pretty sure that straight guys don't-- they don't--"

"It's okay. Shhh. It's going to be okay," David says, and Adam shakes his head against David's shoulder, rubbing his face in the green wool that's pressed against his cheek, rubbing until it feels raw, until he knows he should pull away. "Shh."

He tries to say, no, it isn't--is most definitely *not* okay. But when he opens his mouth, he makes the most horrible sound, and so he bites it back, tries to swallow a few times, but it doesn't matter, the sound comes out anyway.

"It's okay. It's okay. It's okay."

David keeps fucking *saying* that, but he can't argue, can't say anything. And then finally, it doesn't matter anymore.

  


—FIN—

**Author's Note:**

> © 2006


End file.
